


Blood in the Water

by Ltleflrt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Creature Castiel, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of bestiality, Murder Husbands, Serial Killer Dean Winchester, Voyeurism, graphic cannibalism, kelpie castiel, murder fluff, necrophagia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 23:32:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ltleflrt/pseuds/Ltleflrt
Summary: Dean is the monster that goes bump in the night, and when it's time to dispose of his latest victim, he ignores the signs warning him to stay out of the forest because there's not much out there scarier than him.  But that doesn't mean there's nothing...





	Blood in the Water

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S VERY IMPORTANT THAT YOU READ THIS WARNING OKAY? OKAY!
> 
> I get messages from folks all the time along the lines of "this is not my thing, but because I trust you as a writer I checked it out anway!" Thank you, I love you for that, but believe me when I say that if you are squicked by anything in the tags THIS IS NOT THE FIC FOR YOU. This fic is DARK AND TWISTED AND GROSS. It's not my normal fluffy fair, and it's not something that started out as darkfic and accidentally became cute. There is murder and dismemberment and cannibalism.
> 
> If this is not your jam, please check out Chapter 25 of Dreaming in Digital for fluffiness. Since the notification servers were down the day I posted it, I'm pretty sure not many people know there was an update. Please roll around in that fluff and be happy.
> 
> If you are into the gross flesh eating monster kind of stuff, read on and be joyful :)

“The worst part of being a hobbyist,” Dean grumbles as he hitches his bulky and unwieldy burden higher onto his shoulder, already aching with strain, “is definitely the clean up.”  His companion offers no argument, and Dean chuckles at his own morbid sense of humor.

“I could get myself a studio,” Dean continues the one sided conversation with a grunt as his foot finds an unexpected dip in the ground.  “Settle down in one place, collect some tools, keep supplies.  Sure would be easier.”

Actually, no, not easier.  Just more convenient.  Less trudging out into the wilderness to bury his projects, but the methodical dismemberment and destruction that he’d have to do to dispose of them in a single location would be far more work.

And he might miss the burn of sore muscles afterwards.  Maybe.  He’s more of a sadist than a masochist, but he won’t deny that the worked over feeling he gets after a project and the inevitable clean up is almost its own reward.  

Not quite the same high as watching the life drain out of his victim’s eyes, but a nice afterglow.

“I’d probably have to get a gym membership to keep up my manly physique.”  Dean chuckles at the thought of pumping iron at the gym just so he can more easily subdue his victims and cart their corpses around.  

“But then I’d miss scenery like this.”  He looks around the darkened forest.  It’s creepy as fuck, especially after passing all those warning signs.  “Feels like something out of a Del Toro film.  Maybe a Japanese horror.  You like horror?”  There’s no answer from the man draped over his shoulders.  “Nah, probably not.  At least not any more, am I right?”

Probably one of the best reasons for him to settle down in one place would be to have company other than dead people.  Maybe he’d stop talking to them like they can understand him.  Conversations with waitresses and motel clerks don’t hold much substance, and it’d be nice to have someone to talk to besides Sammy.  Maybe a friend or a lover.  But if they got on his nerves, they might end up as another silent companion being dragged out into the woods to be dismembered and buried, so he keeps the deeper talks for the dead.  Safer for everyone involved that way.

Not that he cares all that much about the safety of others.  He _is_ the thing that goes bump in the night, after all.

The canopy of the forest parts ahead of him, and moonlight spills into a clearing.  It glimmers white and silver on the placid surface of a large pond, and the only sound that breaks the eerie silence is the crunch of his boots over the ground and the sawing of his own breath.  

“Jesus, no wonder people around here avoid this place,” he mutters as he moves into a patch of moonlight.  “Not even Del Toro could pull off this vibe.”

The wind picks up, sounding almost like agonized screams from another realm.  The temperature drops, and a mist begins to rise from the mirrored surface of the water.

Anyone sane would be terrified, but Dean’s been slightly left of center for most of his life.  He sees nothing but beauty, hears only comfort in the forest’s song, feels a sense of peace that generally only comes at the first heat of fresh blood on his skin.  

It’ll make a nice final resting place.

“Not that you deserve it.”  Dean loosens his grip on the body, and lets it thump to the ground at his feet, and then kicks it just to feel the way dead organs give way.  “Should’a been nicer to your waitress, ya dickbag.”

He doesn’t exactly have a code over who to kill or not to kill.  Plenty of innocent people have fallen under his blade.  But there is an extra tang of pleasure when a real scumbag paints a target on himself by mistreating someone who can’t escape his advances because they’re paid to be nice to him.

“Oh well, at least I get to enjoy the view,” Dean says as he unsheathes his machete.  

He’s about the bend down and grab Dickbag’s hair to start working on removing his head when a splash from the water brings his attention around.  The pond’s surface is no longer unnaturally smooth, ripples mar what he can see of its surface under the growing bank of mist.  There’s no other movement, and he doesn’t feel the weight of eyes on him.  There’s probably just an animal out there, maybe a frog plopping into the water, or something warm blooded on the far side stopping for a drink.

The likelihood of danger is low, but he’s armed and dangerous, so as long as it isn’t a witness--which he seriously doubts--it’s nothing for him to worry about.  He trusts his senses, and they’re not ringing any alarms.  

Which should be an alarm in and of itself, since he’s a paranoid fucker.  But the sense of peace sliding over him with the mist oozing around his ankles lulls him, and he turns his attention back to his kill.

Before he can raise his blade for the first dismembering strike, the water splits open and a giant black mass flies toward him.  The peace and silence is shattered by an otherworldly scream, echoed by Dean’s own as he stumbles back from the bulky shadow.  He catches a glimpse of two small blue flames, but is knocked from his feet by what feels like a goddamn wrecking ball.  

Rolling into the fall, he ends up on his back, machete on the ground and far out of reach.  The starry sky is blocked out by the dark mass of _something_ looming over him, and icy pond water pours down, further obscuring his vision.  He scrabbles backwards on elbows and knees, and reaches for another knife, smaller but enough to do the trick.  With a shout, he swings, and feels the blade sink deep into something meaty.  

Another scream rends the night, and the cold drops of water are accompanied by a burning splash; blood.  Then the _thing_ backs up, taking the knife with it, and Dean is able to dart under it to get a hand on his machete, which he swings around until it dances backwards again and he has enough space and moonlight to actually _see._

A great horse, mane and coat so dark that they seem to shun all light, looms over his legs.  It paws at the ground near his knee and Dean brandishes his weapon again.  Head rearing, it backs away a few more steps, limping because Dean’s boot knife is still lodged in its flesh, and stares at him with one baleful eye.

The battle of wills is short.  The horse swings away and noses at Dean’s latest victim.

There’s a squishy crunch, and then another, and Dean realizes that the horse is _eating_ the dude’s _face._

“What. The fuck,” he breathes.

One bright blue eye rolls in his direction briefly and then it rearranges its body so its hindquarters point in his direction.  Dean scrambles back again, just in time to avoid a flying hoof, and keeps going until his shoulders are pressed up against a nearby tree.  

He should get up and run, but he freezes against the tree and stares.  The horse licks across the corpse’s face, mostly bare bone now, and then snuffles down towards its chest.  Teeth tug at clothing, ripping it away to bare more flesh which the horse then chomps into.

Before Dean can really wrap his head around what he’s seeing, the creature’s front legs bend and it lowers itself to its knees next to its meal.  There’s a weird shimmer, like he’s seeing the horse and everything around it through a murky lens, and then the horse is gone.  In its place is a naked man.  He reaches for the knife protruding from his chest and pulls it free and then uses the blade to cut through what’s left of the corpse’s shirt, and then there are more squishing sounds as his digs into the victim’s belly, splitting him open and reaching inside.  

With a squelch and a few other unpleasant sounds, the man pulls his arm free and brings a glistening lump of flesh to his mouth.

Dean’s pretty sure that’s a heart.

“Holy shit,” he squeaks.  

The man, _thing,_ turns to glare at him over his shoulder.  His face is dark with blood, but Dean can see the gleam of fangs when he flashes them in a snarl.  “Stay back,” he grunts, words barely intelligible with a mouth full of heart muscle stretching out his cheeks.  

Dean kills for shits and giggles and a semblance of mental stability (ha!), but cannibalism?  Not his thing.  It’s never even crossed his mind to try it, because he may be a sick fuck, but he’s not _that brand_ of sick fuck.  Dean expects disgust to rise up at seeing the strange man tear another bite from the heart in his hands, but instead his own heart starts to pound and a low thrum of something dark and pleasant slithers under his skin.

“I ain’t planning on stopping you, man.  Eat up.” Dean’s voice comes out rough and deep.  It’s the tone he uses to entice his prey closer, whether for a quick and dirty fuck, or a slow and painful end.

The man’s eyes, still eerily lit from within, don’t leave Dean for a long moment.  But he doesn’t stop shoving more “food” into his mouth until the heart is gone.  He hesitates briefly, but when Dean stays completely still, he digs back into the body and comes out with a bulkier organ.  Dean thinks it’s a liver.

The wind picks up again, and Dean can barely hear the sloppy smacking and squelching of the strange man-creature-whatever’s eating.  And once again that sense of peace settles over him.  He lets his eyes wander over moonlight pale skin.  In the dimming light of the moon as it dips lower in the sky, Dean can see ribs and hip bones, and every knob of his gracefully curving spine.  

Whoever--whatever--this guy is, he’s practically emaciated.  

After finishing off the liver, the man sits back on his haunches and turns his face up to the stars.  His chest heaves with each breath, and his blood-gloved hands rest on his now bulging belly.  

Somehow he’s one of the most beautiful things Dean’s ever seen, and ain’t that a kick in the pants.  Dean had no idea he’d be into blood smeared naked dudes in dark forests, but here he is.

Kinda not the thing to focus on in the face of the whole flesh eating shapeshifter stuff though.

“You better be careful,” Dean says when the man’s head drops back down and he eyes the body like he’s about to dive back in and can’t decide what morsel to try next.  “Too much too fast, and you’ll hork it all right back up.”

That earns him another glowing glare.  Dean’s dick throbs in response.  

Dean holds up his hands, machete held loosely to his palm with his thumb.  “I’m just sayin’, if you’re starving, you gotta pace yourself so you don’t get sick.”

“I don’t get sick,” the man says, and wow he has no right to sound so fucking sexy while sitting naked in a forest, covered in a dead man’s blood from nose to neck and elbow to fingertip.  

“Oh yeah?  You gorge yourself like this often?”

“I’ve had larger meals.”  There’s a sulking edge to the man’s voice.  His accent is strange, doesn’t sound like any American dialect he’s ever heard.  Might be something European, but Dean can’t place it.

“After going a while without?” Dean prods, because he’s an asshole, but also because he’s right.

“No.”

Yeah that’s a Bingo.  Dean doesn’t rub it in, but he can see the silent acknowledgement on the other man’s face, and he smirks in response.

They stare at each other for long moments.  The man’s eyes are definitely not human, and while Dean’s never come across a monster--that he’s aware of--he doesn’t find it at all surprising that one exists.  He’s wondered from time to time if he has inhuman blood pumping through his own veins, something in his DNA that makes him ache to feel living flesh splitting under a sharpened blade.  Is he the creature that monster myths are built on?

He’s probably just a psycho killer.  Poison, but human.  Definitely nothing like the creature kneeling before him in the mud.

“What are you?” he finally asks when the silence stretches out.

A slick tongue swipes at bloody lips, and Dean can see the man is considering how much he should say.  The hesitation goes on long enough that Dean doesn’t think he’s going to get an answer, but then a tiny hint of tension leaves the man’s shoulders, and he speaks.  “I’m Castiel.  I’m a kelpie.”  When Dean frowns in confusion he continues.  “A water horse, that eats humans.”

The way he tilts his head at the dead body in an _as you can see_ kind of motion is almost cute.  Dean tries not to smile at the gesture, but can feel his lips twitching anyway.  “You gonna eat me, Cas?”  And there he goes with the _come fuck me_ voice again.

He can’t _help_ it!  The dude’s fuckin’ sexy, alright?  And he’s discovering a new blood kink, which is all kinds of exciting.

The nickname earns him a squint, and yeah that’s definitely cute and Dean’s smile breaks free.  Until he hears Castiel’s answer, which wipes it away.

“I want to.”

It’s not a come on.  He’s deadly serious.

Dean swallows and tightens his grip on his machete, while wishing he’d also brought a gun or two on his jaunt into the forest.  Leaving it in the car was not the brightest idea, second only to ignoring the warning signs he’d strolled right past.

“But I am…” Castiel looks down at himself, spreading the fingers of the hand not holding Dean’s boot knife, and then curling them into a weak fist.  “...not my usual self.”

“You really are starving,” Dean says softly.  He thinks back to he warning signs ringing the edge of the woods.  The people around this place know that a trip into the woods means never coming back, but he wonders if they know why.

Castiel nods and looks longingly at him, hunger clear in the way his lips curl back from vicious teeth, then back at Dean’s victim.  “Normally I would only eat my own kills, because hot flesh is more nourishing.  But this body is fresh enough to restore some of my vitality.  I should be able to hunt on my own after this meal.”

“Ain’t he still warm?” Dean asks, too curious for his own damn good, but unable to hold back.  “I brought him out here as soon as I killed him.  It’s only a couple hour drive from town.”

“Warm enough,” Castiel murmurs.  He rests his palm over his belly again, and it already looks less distended in the few minutes they’ve been talking.  “You murdered him?”

“Yup.”  In all his life, only Sammy has ever heard Dean confess to his crimes.  It feels strange to admit it to anyone else.  Liberating though.  

“Why?”

“Because I was in the mood,” Dean says with a sharp grin of his own.  He may be just a mere human in blood only, but he’s his own breed of monster.  

“Do you kill often?”

“As often as I can.”

The blue glow of Castiel’s eyes intensifies.  “I see.”

“I was just out here to get rid of the body,” Dean says conversationally.  “But I’m glad to bring you a snack.  You look like you need it, and he’s less likely to be found.  Pretty damn convenient, as long as you don’t decide to eat me too.”

“You are a very unique person....” there’s a question hanging from his words.

“Dean.” He grins cheekily.  “And thanks.  You too, buddy.”

“Dean.” Castiel echoes softly.  He shakes his head, and a smile flicks around the edges of his bloodied mouth.  His eyes flick back toward the cooling corpse.

“Don’t hold back on my account, Cas,” Dean says.  “Chow down.”

He gets a curious look.  “You plan on staying to watch.”

It’s not a question, and it’s something Dean wasn’t exactly thinking about until Castiel points it out to him.  But yeah, he does want to stay right where he’s at.  Apparently he’s more of a psycho than he already knew.  “Is that okay?”

“You’re not afraid I’ll turn on you?”

“Honestly?” Dean tilts his head in thought, and then grins.  “Kinda.  But it’s turning me on, and if I’m gonna die, I might as well get the best out of tonight, right?”

The blue glow intensifies again.  Castiel’s voice is soft, probably meant only for himself.  “So very strange.”

They fall into another stare off, that Dean wins by bouncing his eyebrows.  His reward is a huff that might be amusement.  

“You can’t kill me with your weapons,” Castiel says, and yeah there’s definitely a hint of laughter in his voice.  “If you’re sticking around to try.”

“Nope, just gonna watch.”

“Hmm.”  Castiel presses his lips together, almost smiling, but doesn’t comment further.  He turns his attention back to the body and uses Dean’s knife to sheer off a chunk of bicep.  Another hum rumbles up in his chest, this one of pleasure.

And there goes Dean’s dick again.

Castiel dives back into his meal, and under Dean’s eyes his protruding ribs begin to disappear, and his limbs bulk up with muscle.  He’s fucking gorgeous, and the sounds he’s making, both the unconsciously happy noises over an especially tasty morsel and the sloppier ones from desecrating flesh, are doing unexpected things to Dean’s libido.

Without thinking too hard about it, he palms himself over the fly of his jeans.  When that is eventually not enough stimulation, he carefully undoes his fly.  He tries to muffle the sound of the zipper by going slow, but only a few teeth are separated when Castiel’s head comes up.  He eyes Dean’s crotch, and there’s a hint of approval there which spurs Dean on.

When he pulls himself free and gives his cock a firm stroke he groans.

Castiel bares his teeth.  That’s definitely approval.

“God, I am a sick fuck,” Dean murmurs.  It's not necrophilia at least.  He  _knows_ he's not into the dead guy Castiel is eating.  He's just into Castiel... eating the dead guy.  Whatever, it's not the same.

Castiel answers by licking congealing blood from his fingertips.  He watches Dean for half a minute or so before his hunger draws him back to his meal.

They continue like that as Castiel works over the body, discarding its clothing and feeding himself chucks of meat and organs.  Dean nearly comes when Castiel breaks off a pinky finger and pops the whole thing in his mouth.  He manages to hold off, but earns a dark chuckle for his efforts.  Castiel watches Dean almost as much as Dean watches him, and Dean’s never felt sexier in his whole life.

“You like what you see, Cas?”

“Very much.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only weirdo in the forest tonight.”

Castiel crunches down on bone, and grins when Dean gasps.  “I too am enjoying the company.”

The words are spoken so warmly that Dean feels it like a touch.  Heat roars through his body and his orgasm hits him like a punch to the gut.  His head presses into rough bark as he arches against the tree, and comes all over his fist.  It takes him a moment to catch his breath, and when he does, he realizes his eyes are closed.

He opens them to find Castiel watching him with something that might be tenderness, might be hunger, might be affection.  

“Beautiful,” Castiel murmurs.

Dean blushes and shifts in the dirt, but doesn’t protest.

Castiel gestures at the pond with Dean’s knife.  “You can wash if you’d like.  The water will be warm for you.”

An hour, and half a corpse ago, Dean might have been afraid to take Castiel up on the offer.  But something has shifted between them.  Dean knows Castiel won’t hurt him.  

So he gets to his feet, and walks toward the water.  He passes just close enough to Castiel to run the tips of his fingers over the kelpie’s shoulder blades and smiles when the touch causes a shiver.  

This time he definitely feels the weight of Castiel’s stare as he steps to the edge of the bank.  He’d only planned on washing his hands, but he’s not in the mood to stop showing off to his audience.  Instead he strips down and walks into the water, which is warm as Castiel promised.  His feet slide over sof mud and rounded pebbles, and instead of grossing him out, it feels as good as the silky water encasing his body.

He swims.  Dives and counts how many seconds he can hold his breath.  Takes laps, and floats on his back when he begins to tire.

Just as he’s thinking it might be time to get out, a splash at the bank gets his attention.  Castiel is bloody from face to belly, fully naked, no longer skeletal with starvation but hale and firm.  In more ways than one.  His cock bobs proudly as he steps further into the water.  Dean watches Castiel walk slowly but with purpose into the water, until he’s far enough in that he has to dive forward as the ground slips away under his feet.  

There’s barely a ripple as he swims to the center of the pond where Dean floats.  

“You don’t turn into a horse as soon as you’re in the water?”

Castiel floats to a stop nearby, ducks under the surface and then comes back up.  The blood on his face starts to thin and drip away.  “No.”

“So are you usually a horse, or usually a man?”

“Whichever form I choose.”

Dean stiffens his legs and comes out of his back float.  He glares at Castiel as he treads water right in front of him.  “You being cryptic on purpose?”

Castiel’s lips turn up at the corners, and mischief twinkles in his softly glowing eyes.  “A little.”

Dean splashes at his face, but grins when Castiel only laughs instead of ducking away.

“So now what?” Dean asks.  

“I don’t know,” Castiel answers.  “But I don’t intend to eat you.”

“I figured.”

They float closer together, until their arms and legs brush under the water.  Dean can feel Castiel’s hardness brush against his hip.  “Want me to take care of that for you?”

Water tinkles as Castiel shakes his head and swishes it with the movement of his chin.  “It would not be a good idea right now.  Even after that meal I am still weak, and may not be able to maintain my human form.”

Dean thinks back to Castiel’s size in his horse body, and wonders how impressive his cock would be.  Despite being chin deep in water, his mouth goes dry.  “Damn, Cas.  You’re introducing me to all kinds of unknown kinks today.”

Castiel’s eyebrows go up, and then he laughs.  “You are a _very_ strange human.”

“I’m a fucking psychopath serial killer, Cas.  Strange is a bit of an understatement.”

Castiel hums noncommittally, and just watches Dean’s face.  Up close Dean can see his pupils amidst the blue glow.  They flick back and forth between Dean’s features, and then settle on his lips.  “May I kiss you, Dean?”

He’s not really much of a kisser.  Too intimate.  But he just watched Castiel eat a whole human body, that Dean brought to him, while jerking off.  A kiss seems super fuckin’ tame in comparison.  “Sure.”

Castiel’s lips taste like blood.  And Dean’s _into it._

He loses himself to Castiel’s kiss, his lips, his tongue.  He isn’t even sure if he’s swimming anymore, or if Castiel is holding his head above water.  Hell, at this point, they could sink under the surface right now and he’d probably think he could breathe Castiel.  

“Fuck,” he grunts against Castiel’s mouth.  “I want to fuck you so bad right now.”  He dives in for another kiss, chasing copper.  “Or bend over for you.  I’m verse.”

“I can’t,” Castiel murmurs, stroking Dean’s cheek when he wordlessly protests the end of the kiss.  “I need at least a few more meals.”

“Well let’s get you some,” Dean says.  “I could bring you a few more people to eat, and then we can bang until you need to eat again.”

Strong fingers circle Dean’s throat, but they stay loose, and Dean doesn’t fear them.  “You would do that for me?”

“If you don’t mind that it’s a few hours old, I’ll bring you all the food you can eat, Cas.”

He doesn’t know where the words are coming from.  Or the sentiment.  Maybe it’s bloodlust, or just plain old sexual lust.  Or maybe it’s having someone besides his brother who understands his need to kill.  Whatever it is, he knows he sure as fuck means it.

“I could come with you.”

The words are spoken so wistfully that Dean’s heart twists in his chest.  He’s such a fucking sap, because he’s going to give Castiel anything he asks for.  “Can you?  Is it safe for you to leave here?”

“I can leave, as long as I can access water every few days.”  Castiel’s eyes drop.  “Longer if I have a mate.”

Dean’s arms tighten around Castiel’s waist.  He’s been alone on the road for years.  He doesn’t know if it’s a good idea for him to change that habit.  But the idea of ever leaving Castiel behind feels wrong on so many levels.  His brain should be sending up red flags left and right.  He’s only known Castiel for maybe a couple hours.  Also there’s the fact that Castiel is a _flesh eating horse monster._

“How’s that work?” Dean finds himself asking.

Castiel lifts his gaze and when he blinks it’s like a strobe light.  “You… would mate with me?”

“I would fuck you ten ways from Sunday.” Dean flashes his most charming grin.  “And who knows, maybe we’ll actually like each other enough for a more permanent relationship.”

Castiel laughs softly and shakes his head again, but there’s a fondness growing in his eyes.  “I am glad I didn’t eat you.”

“You can always eat me later if you get tired of me.”  Dean waggles his brows.  “Or you can eat me in other, more porny ways.”

“As soon as I am able, I am going to take you up on the second offer.”

Despite the warmth of the water, Dean shivers.  “Awesome.”

And then a yawn cracks his jaw, and he has to physically shake it off.  Castiel is definitely holding him up in the water now.  Which he shouldn’t do if he’s still weak.  

“You need sleep.”

“Thank you Captain Obvious,” Dean says through a second yawn.  “It’s been a long night.  You wanna come back to town with me now?”

Castiel agrees, and they swim to the edge of the pond.  Dean’s legs don’t want to hold him up when he tries to support himself outside the buoyancy of the water.  Under his arm, Castiel’s body _changes_ and instead of having his arm draped around a thick waist, it’s draped over the broad back of a huge black horse.  He murmurs his thanks and let’s Castiel guide him to where he abandoned his clothes.

The only thing that’s left of Dean’s kill is a body shaped smear of blood on the ground and a tattered pile of clothing.  And Dean’s boot knife.  He scoops it up, cleans it on a somewhat bloodless rag that might have been a shirt, and tucks it back in his boot when he re-dresses.

Castiel kneels down and turns his head in Dean’s direction, waiting expectantly.  Dean’s never ridden a horse in his life, but he accepts the invitation.  It’s unnerving when Castiel rises back to his feet, and Dean tangles his hair in Castiel’s mane, holding on for dear life.

He gets a nicker that sounds suspiciously like laughter.  “Yeah, yeah, yuck it up, buddy.”

Castiel wags his head up and down and knickers again.  Asshole.  Dean smiles down at him, and settles more comfortably on his back.

The trip back to the car is much faster on 4 feet, even if one of them is still carrying a body.  And when they get there, Castiel shifts back so that he can fit into Dean’s car.  Dean has a pile of clothing from some of his other victims in the trunk, and Castiel picks through it.  He settles on a pair of scrubs and a flasher trench coat, but he looks so pleased with the outfit that Dean can’t even roll his eyes about it.

The sun is up by the time Dean pulls into the parking space in front of the motel room he’d used the night before last.  He hadn’t planned on coming back, so he stops in the office to rent another night.  Castiel trails along behind him, looking around with wide eyed--and thankfully not glowing under the sunlight--curiosity.

The motel clerk gives them both a once over, sneering.  “Lemme guess.  Two queens?”

Dean beams brightly at the guy.  “A king if you’ve got it.”

The clerk’s eyes narrow, and his lips turn down in obvious disgust.  He’s very careful only touch the very edges of Dean’s (stolen) credit card with the tips of his fingers when he takes it for payment, and hands it back.  

Dean throws him a wink, and wraps an arm around Castiel’s shoulder as he leads him out of the motel office.  He leans down and whispers in his new companion’s ear.  “Hey, you up for some breakfast?”

Castiel glances up at Dean, and then follows his pointed gaze to the homophobe still glaring at them through the office windows.  He bares his elongated, razor sharp teeth in a wicked grin.  “I could eat.”


End file.
